


Wind Through Branches

by daughtershade



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-21
Updated: 2011-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:44:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daughtershade/pseuds/daughtershade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a fairy...no, not like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wind Through Branches

Forest Service Rangers have been disappearing regularly, one a year for the past five years. There are missing person cases that go back a good thirty years if anyone bothered to look—anyone being Dean and Sam because no one else would. They don't have any kind of clue or hint about what might be causing the disappearances, and all the wild speculation in the world won't solve the mystery. Which is how Dean finds himself hiking in the backend of nowhere South Carolina. Congaree National Park is old bottomland forest north of the Congaree River. It's twenty-two thousand acres of preserved wilderness and they're just two guys. Neither of these facts seems to have penetrated Sam's brain. Dean doesn't know what it is about this case that’s got Sam's panties in a twist, but he's about to knock the not-so-little fucker out and wake him up when they're at least two states away.

Dean slumps down onto a fallen tree and shoots a dirty look at his brother's back. It takes a couple of minutes before Sam notices he's gone and backtracks to shoot him a pissy look.

"Will you come on? We've got a lot of ground to cover."

Dean snorts. "Yeah 'cause just walking around is going to do us any good. Damnit, Sam, we don't even know what we're looking for!"

"I'll know it when I see it."

"Wait, is _that_ what this is about? You got some kind of vibes or something? Tell me I haven't been busting my ass when you've dreamed the whole thing."

Sam sighs and seems to realize that they're not going to be moving anytime soon because he drops his big pack. It makes a heavy clanging sound, and Dean cocks an eye at it. He has no idea what Sam's packing, but it seems heavy. There's a lot about this job that he doesn't know. It's starting to grate a little too much. Dean scoots over to give Sam a seat.

Sam sighs as he sits. "I'm not sure. I had a dream, but it didn't make much sense. The only thing clear was this tree I saw."

"Oh great. We won't have any trouble there," Dean says flatly while looking at the hundreds of trees surrounding them.

"It was big. Old. Real old. There's something... I think it's toward the center of the forest. I can't explain it, Dean."

"Why didn't you tell me this right off?"

"Because I knew you'd just give me that look you're giving me now," Sam says without even looking at Dean's face.

Dean unpurses his lips. "Fine. You know where we're going, right?"

"I have the park map from the ranger station and I know how to use a compass, asshole."

"Fine, dipshit, let’s go."

They don't reach the center of the woods, which turns out to be a small clearing with their objective in the middle, until right after sunset. It turns out the old willow tree has an old dryad. She isn't happy to see them. There's noise, chaos, and harsh wind through leaves. When Sam finally has enough, after tree branches and roots have pounded them for a bit, he drops his pack and pulls out a short chainsaw. Dean almost cries out in appreciation, but he's too busy trying to worm his way out of some overly friendly branches. The sound of the small motor turning over silences the whole wood. The dryad screams as Sam cuts his way through the roots wrapped around his long legs. The vines tighten around Dean and lift him into the air.

"Dean!" Sam yells, but it's too late.

The dryad pulls him close to the trunk of the old tree. He watches her face melt out of the bark in front of him. She speaks, but he doesn't understand her. Dean spits out a few Greek curses he learned from a sailor in Maine, just in case. The smile that crosses her face at that makes him shut up. The dryad blows him a kiss in a sparkle of light. It hits him like an electric shock, and then he's falling, falling. The ground swallows him up like a big black fist.

Dean can't see through all the green around him, but he can hear Sam's broken voice screaming his name over the roar of the saw.

"What did you do? You killed him, you bitch!" Sam yells above the sounds of chainsaw and screaming dryad.

Dean calls out, "I'm here! I'm here!"

Sam doesn't seem to notice. He saws and saws. It is a big damn tree, and when it falls, the ground shakes like an earthquake. The forest is quiet once again. Dean fights his way through the sudden jungle growth around him. He listens for a few moments before he hears Sam crying at a distance. The strange growth around him keeps him from making any headway, and he screams in frustration.

"Sam! Sam!" he calls, but Sam never answers. Finally, Dean pushes his way through a bunch of green and stumbles into a clearing.

"Oh, shit," he says.

The clearing is the base of the tree. The jungle he's been fighting his way through is grass. The stump of the tree looks like a mountain. Dean looks down at his body. He looks the same. He feels the same. He runs his hands over everything to be sure. Legs, check. Arms, check. Torso, check. Family jewels, check, check, and check. Head, check. Wings—

"YOU HAVE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME!"

Dean can feel the paper-thin wispy things on his back. At first he thinks they are the big grass blades or something on him, but seeing as how they hurt when he pulls on them... He does two complete circles in place trying to get a look at them before giving up. There are more important things that need his attention.

Sam is sprawled out away from the new stump. His breathing is all off and he keeps wiping his face. Dean curses. He makes his way over, but distance is all messed up thanks to his new scale. Sam is slowly climbing to his feet. He's gigantic. Dean starts running flat out.

"Sam! Sammy!" he yells, but his voice must be as small as his body. Sam pauses to pick up the chainsaw and his pack. It's the only chance Dean has. With a wild leap, he lands on the ratty ends of Sam's jeans. Everything is fine, until the foot flies into the air and comes back down hard. Dean thrashes around for a tighter grip to keep from falling. He climbs around to the front of the pants until he's over Sam's boot, where there's more solid footing. Dean contemplates climbing higher, but the length of Sam's body seems miles away. Plus, he really doesn't want to think about playing mountain climber over the whole crotch area. It's been a long night, so instead he just holds on to a threadbare spot and tolerates the roller-coaster ride up and down.

It's dark, and Sam seems to be floundering around blindly. Finally, he finds a spot and throws his things down. He doesn't even try to make a camp, just flops down with his back against a tree and covers his face with a hand. Dean looks up at his grieving brother with a small frown. Sam's already lost too much. The climb up the bent leg to Sam's knee doesn't look as daunting, so Dean starts to move. When Dean’s halfway up the shin, Sam's other hand comes at him like a wall. Sam unthinkingly brushes at his pants, trying to knock Dean off like he was some kind of bug. Dean bites Sam’s finger in retaliation.

"Ow! What the—" Sam trails off as he looks down to see what got him.

Dean hangs on with one arm and flails the other about wildly.

"Dean?" Sam whispers.

Before Dean can reply, the hand is back and scooping him up. He squeaks in a very unmanly way and is thankful that Sam probably can't hear it. Dean sprawls out on the palm of his brother's hand. There's a loud noise and then light. Dean looks over to see Sam holding up his lighter with the other hand. In the flickering flame, Dean looks up at the broad expanse of Sam's face. Sam’s cheeks glitter wetly, but his eyes are bright.

"Oh my god, you're tiny."

"Shut up!" Dean barks.

Sam throws his head back and laughs loudly. He doesn't stop for a while. Dean kicks his heels hard against the palm he's sitting on. Sam manages to get a hold of himself long enough to splutter, "Your voice!" before cracking up again.

Dean paces back and forth across the shaking hand perched on top of a shaking knee. He knows the size of Sam's hand well enough and guesses his new height at almost three inches. The lighter moves a little too close for his comfort, and he jumps back.

"Hey, watch it!"

"Sorry, sorry," Sam replies, the laughter finally fading away to his usual concern. "What happened?"

"She blew a kiss at me." Dean turns his side to the light and pulls one of his wings around so he can get a good look at it. The light shines through with no problem. The wings are a kind of smoky gray color and have an opalescent sheen with dark structural webbing. There are four of them coming out of the middle of his back. Thankfully, they appear more like dragonfly wings than something prissy like a butterfly.

"At least my clothes shrunk with me," he says after thinking a moment. "I could be naked or wearing some kind of dorky leaves or something."

Sam snorts. "So now what?" he asks.

Dean looks up at his brother. "You cut down the tree."

"Yes."

"You killed the dryad."

"Yes," Sam says slower this time, dragging out the word.

"I'm screwed."

"Dean, I didn't know! I thought you'd just disappeared. I thought she'd killed you and—"

Dean waves a hand. "Yeah, I get it, Sam. I get it. Let me think."

"There's got to be some way to reverse this. Maybe we can find a benevolent nymph?"

Dean figures the odds on that are slim. He wonders if this is what happened to all the missing Rangers. Shaking his head, he discards the thought. If there were lots of tiny fairy people buzzing around, they would have gotten wind of it. He returns to pacing the length of Sam's palm as he thinks. Suddenly, there is a puff of wind that blows through his hair and make his wings sing in the breeze as they move. When he looks up, he realizes it's Sam blowing on him.

"Will you stop that!"

"I'm sorry. It's just...your wings are kind of cool."

"Of course they are. I'm still _me,_ dude."

Sam sets him down at the base of the tree and makes camp. Dean is so small, he's afraid of everything but he refuses to admit it. He ends up bitching at his brother instead. They argue for half an hour about sleeping arrangements. Dean doesn't want to lie on the ground because who knows what's crawling around that could get him, and he shoots down Sam's offer of sleeping on his chest.

"What if you roll over or have one of your freaky nightmares? You could squash me!"

"I won't squash you!"

"You will, you tall bastard."

Sam stops arguing and goes to make a bed for Dean, who continues to complain. Sam's bag is pulled close, but not close enough for it to be disturbed if he should roll over. He makes the top into a little bowl and then pulls out his small pocketknife and opens it. It's still too big for Dean, but he can use it as a spear in a pinch. Dean fights to get his coat off, but with the wings in the way, he just gives up and flops down on his stomach. He's out seconds later.

The next morning he's nudged awake by a big finger poking him. The rest of the day is just as humiliating. Sam pulls off his hoodie and shoves it in his bag, revealing the western shirt underneath. A protesting Dean is scooped up without so much as a warning and shoved in the front shirt pocket. Dean grumbles for a little while, but being up by Sam's shoulder is almost like being his regular size again. Of course, he has to give Sam a hard time just on principle. He yells out directions just like when Sam drives. It's a good hour of _Watch that limb!_ and _No, go around the bank!_ and _Will you quit going through the underbrush!_ and _Are you sure we're going the right way?_

Finally, Sam snaps and calls him a backseat walker. Dean sulks until they get back to the car. He sits on the dash so that he can see where they're going. After too much silence, Sam starts to chuckle.

"What?" Dean snaps.

"We could hang you from the mirror like an air freshener. Too bad you stink."

Dean turns around to bitch his brother out, but he sees the grin that doesn't show up too often on Sam's face and leaves him be. When they get back to the motel, Sam sets him on the bed. Dean struggles to get out of his leather coat again. The wings get tangled up and he starts kicking the pillow in frustration. Sam comes over and gently helps him out of the coat, big fingers doing a delicate task with surprising ease. Dean hates the wings, but he's scared he'll tear them for some reason. He walks around on the ugly comforter and tries to figure out how they work. The urge to fly outweighs the possibility of looking like an idiot.

They don't move when he thinks really hard. Granted, he never thinks about using his arms either. After a few moments of walking around the bed not paying much attention, he can get them to flutter. They make a kickass buzzing sound like a big scary wasp. Dean looks over proudly at Sam but his smile falters because Sam has a hand clamped over his mouth.

"You're laughing." He pauses. "Of course you're laughing." Dean looks away with his arms crossed. The bed moves and he stumbles a bit as he fights to keep upright. He lands back against something solid. Sam is sitting on the bed next to him holding his hand out to keep Dean from falling.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to laugh. This is all so crazy. But I must admit it's kind of nice to be the big brother for once."

"You've been the big brother since you turned fourteen," Dean grumbles.

"Taller isn't the same as bigger. You're the one always looking out for me whether I want you to or not. It's nice to be able to take care of you for once."

Dean shoves uselessly at Sam's hand and groans, "Oh god."

In his effort to get away from the girly nightmare that is his brother, his wings spur into fast action and he actually lifts into the air for a few seconds as he moves across the bed.

"Holy shit! Did you see that? Did you? I flew."

"That’s great!" Sam says enthusiastically. Dean can tell Sam's trying not to laugh so as to not hurt his feelings.

Dean practices for a bit more and climbs on top of the pillow, which gets him more lift. He can't go very far, but he's getting the hang of it. It’s not until he hears his tiny stomach growl that he realizes all the exercise is making him hungry. Sam offers to go get some dinner, but Dean vetoes the idea. He doesn’t want to be left alone when he can't fight back, and he can hardly go out to a restaurant and order from Sam's pocket.

"We'll have pizza delivered," Sam says, giving Dean a knowing look.

Dean wants to say something scathing, but he's grateful that Sam didn't just ignore his protests and leave. When the pizza arrives they have a bit of a problem. To Dean, it's bigger than a trampoline. Sam pulls out a knife and cuts one of the pointy end slices into little bits. Dean eats two bits before he's full. He gets more sauce on him than in him.

"Great, now I need a bath."

"I don't think they have any thimbles," Sam says around a mouthful of pizza.

"Funny."

"We're probably going to have to find you some doll clothes tomorrow."

Dean wrestles with his shirt until it's off his head. It's a lot easier to slide it off his wings that way. "I am not wearing doll clothes!"

"Dean, I can hand wash your stuff tonight, but finding a way to fix this may take some time. We're going to need supplies."

Dean pulls off his shoes and belt, carefully setting them on the edge of the nightstand so they won't get lost. He nods at Sam with a resigned sigh. Sam picks up the little clothes and lays a washcloth on the bed for Dean to wrap himself in. He is jostled a little as Sam carries him into the bathroom and gives, for his size, a loud burp.

"Geez, even your gas is cute," Sam mutters and sets him on the counter.

The paper water cups are the perfect height for a stand-up tub. Sam fills one halfway, and Dean crawls up Sam’s hand and into the water, while his brother thankfully looks away. The hotel soap is carved into tiny slivers. Dean bathes while Sam washes his things in the sink.

"Do you think it would be a bad idea to get my wings wet?" Dean asks after a bit.

"Dragonflies live near water, and their wings are like that, so I don't guess it should hurt them. I wouldn't try flying until they’re dry, though. When we're through, I'll get on the computer and see what I can find out about winged insects. It wouldn't hurt to know more."

Dean looks down at himself with a frown. "My dick is fucking tiny."

"That's different from normal how?"

Somehow throwing water on a laughing Sam at his current size just isn't the same. He sleeps that night using a pillow for his bed. The cheap motel washcloth is too uncomfortable for a blanket so he just sleeps in the buff, after declaring a moratorium on dick jokes. Being naked isn't as bad as not having his knife or gun. He feels more exposed without them.

He wakes to Sam using his phone to take a picture of him, bare assed and wings out to the world.

"DUDE! That's not cool!" he yells, pulling the discarded washcloth over himself.

"I'm thinking that if I send this in to _The Inquirer_ we could make some serious money proving that fairies exist."

"I don't have to be naked for that!"

"No, that's just a bonus, really."

The rest of the morning Sam surfs the internet while Dean takes turns watching cable and doing flying practice. He is quite proud of himself when he can make it across the gap between the two beds. Sam is in research mode and mostly ignores him. Finally, Dean gets bored enough to take a chance at making it to the cheap table from Sam's bed. He gets a running start and focuses on the table. He misjudges his new abilities and flies right over the table and into Sam's head. Dean gets tangled up in Sam's hair when his brother freaks out and flails all over the room. Sam's hand catches him as it brushes by in Sam’s panicked flailing, and Dean falls. He doesn't have the coordination yet to get his wings going before he lands hard on the carpet.

"Oh my god! Dean! Dean, are you all right?" Sam practically shrieks. He bends down on one knee to hover protectively. Dean shoots him a sour look as he rolls over.

"Yeah, I'm fine. It barely knocked the wind out of me. I guess being smaller helps. What the hell was all that?"

"I just... I wasn't paying attention, and when you slammed into me—"

"Go on," Dean grumbles and climbs to his feet.

"I thought you were a bug. Sorry."

Suddenly, the shoe is on the other foot. Dean grins.

"You screamed like a girl."

Sam looks indignant. "I did not! There was no screaming at all."

"No, there was just dancing around the room like an idiot."

After that Sam pulls one of the cheap motel chairs in front of the TV so that Dean can watch. The screen is so large, it’s like sitting in a theater. Dean has fun jumping up and down on the remote control to change the channels. He ignores the snorts from the other side of the room every time he does it.

Sam researches well into the evening, but outside of fairy lore, he doesn’t really find much. He’s a good enough brother to try and put on a hopeful face about finding something the next day, but Dean doesn’t buy it. Sam’s a damn good researcher, and if he didn’t find anything through the usual methods, then there is likely going to be trouble finding anything at all. Dean distracts himself from this by exploring under the beds and other small places. He figures that he’s going to be like this for a while, so he’d better learn his limitations and strengths. It’s when he’s under Sam’s bed that he notices something new.

“Dude, I think I’m glowing!” he yells, but Sam doesn’t hear him. His voice is too small and it’s muffled by the bed itself, so he crawls out and tries again.

When Sam does hear Dean, he gets a funny look on his face.

“What?”

“It’s just…Dean, you have glitter coming off of you.”

Looking down at his body, Dean realizes Sam is right. There is a fine spray of glittery something all over his jeans and shoes. He looks over his shoulder and sees that the powdery material is coming from his wings.

“Jeez. I hope I’m not molting,” he replies and then suddenly sneezes so hard, he falls back onto his ass.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, giving him the cow eyes.

“Yeah, I just—“ Dean pauses to sneeze again and gives his brother a sour look. “Only I would be allergic to my own fairy dust.”

Sam laughs and bends down to offer his hand. Dean climbs into the massive paw and tries not to get vertigo as he rises into the air. Sam holds Dean close to his face and rubs some of the dust off onto his finger to check the consistency.

“I wonder what the purpose is. Fairy lore has the dust as being the source of the faerie magic,” Sam says, and Dean can hear the funky spelling the second time Sam says it. His big-little brother is such a geek.

Dean crosses his arms over his chest and starts to argue with the whole magical angle, but before he can, he sneezes again. The jerk causes his dust to fly up in a little cloud right into Sam’s face, and then it happens. Sam’s eyes glaze over, and his mouth goes slack.

“Dude, are you okay? Sammy? Talk to me, man.”

“Pretty…”

“I am not pretty!”

“Not pretty.”

Dean looks at his brother with slow understanding. “Stand on one leg.”

The hand jostles a bit as Sam follows Dean’s command.

“Well, this is not good.”

“Not good,” Sam repeats like the mindless zombie he currently is.

Dean swears and jumps up and down on Sam’s hand for a few minutes. Occasionally, Sam actually tries to do some of the physically impossible things that Dean screams and has to be told to stop. Dean is just starting to calm down when Sam suddenly blinks and shakes his head.

“What—“ Sam stops and looks around the room before finishing. “Did you just say something?”

“You’ve been out of it for the past fifteen minutes! I thought I’d screwed up your big brain permanently.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My dust has some kind of mind control. You were like a robot.”

Sam’s face hardens. “What did you make me do?”

“Nothing! I was too freaked out, but now that I know it wears off…”

“Dean!”

The argument lasts for another half-hour or so and concludes with Sammy going on about the history of ‘faeries’ and how the dust must allow them to keep themselves secret. He gets all excited and scholarly until Dean tells him that he doesn’t care and to stop being a dork. They go to bed, Sam with a pissy expression, and Dean with a mischievous smile.

The next morning while Dean’s still trying to figure out how to get some coffee without taking a bath in it, and Sam’s getting ready for another long research session, there is a knock at the door. Sam shoots Dean a look, but Dean is already crouched down behind his pillow. He hears Sam open the door and greet what sounds like an old lady. She calls Sam ‘dear’ and asks to come inside. There’s a bit of a tussle at the door, and then Dean feels the bed move as someone sits down.

Sam starts to make some kind of protest, but she quickly cuts him off. “Tut-tut. You can come out, my little darling, Granny Wist knows all about it.”

Dean stands up and walks around the pillow to see the woman smiling warmly down at him. Her face is lined with age, but Dean can see that she was once quite the looker. Her hair is salt-and-pepper gray and pulled back into a loose bun. She’s dressed in one of those fancy tracksuits that old ladies wear when they’re going out for exercise. In her lap is an obviously handmade macramé handbag with little trinkets hanging all over it. Dean looks up into her eyes. The surprising green color reminds him of a cat.

“So who are you?”

“I just said, dear. I’m Granny Wist and I’ve seen the trouble you boys have been getting into in the woods. You must be quite brave, or quite foolhardy, to mess with mean Mrs. Willow.”

Dean stiffens. “You a friend of hers?”

“Oh, dear me, no. In fact, I rather think you did me a favor. Mrs. Willow and I had many a difference. She never liked my kind.”

“And what kind is that?” Sam asks, sitting across from her on the other bed.

“Why, I’m a witch, dear. How else would I have known about the two of you? I scried the whole thing last night, and I just knew that you boys would need help with your…little problem.”

Dean makes a face and mutters, “Funny.”

“You’re a witch?” Sam asks with surprise.

“Yes, but not like the ones you’ve encountered before. Don’t look so surprised, boy. You two have the smell of the hunter about you. I’ve been around long enough to know that, but you needn’t worry about me. I’m harmless. Did you know that fairy godmothers are really just witches who do nice things?”

“Wait,” Dean says, “are you trying to tell me that you’re my fairy godmother?”

“No, dear, I just thought the example was apt in this situation.”

“Can you help Dean?” Sam asks.

“Yes, but first I’ll need your help.”

Dean squats down on the mattress and rubs his head. Of course it wouldn’t be easy. “What do you want us to do?”

“Well in order to reverse the spell, you need the same magic that caused it. I’ll need Mrs. Willow’s wand to change you back.”

“Her wand?” Sam asks, looking at her intently.

“Yes, even something as powerful as a dryad needs to focus her power now and again. I’ve tried sending familiars in after it, but it’s well guarded.”

“Here we go,” Dean says.

Sam shoots Dean a look that quiets him down, and Granny Wist gives Sam an approving pat. Dean just rolls his eyes at the two of them.

“Gnomes,” she says as if it isn’t the most ridiculous thing ever.

“Gnomes?” Sam repeats.

“Yes. They worship dryads, and because they live hidden underground she entrusted them with protecting her wand.”

“Let me guess who you want to go in to get it,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

The second trek through the woods is a lot easier, mostly because by riding on Sam’s shoulder, Dean doesn’t have to worry about keeping up with long legs. Granny Wist isn’t as lucky. She’s in good shape for an old broad, but still, Sam’s built like a giant.

They reach the North edge of the clearing about mid-day. Granny Wist gives a low whistle at seeing the fallen tree. Dean has to admit that it looks much more impressive now that it’s light and he can see it from a distance. They give Granny Wist a few moments to catch her breath before heading away from the clearing. North of the field is a large boulder with an old river bottom tree’s roots wrapped around it. There is a hollow toward one side. Granny Wist points it out, and they retreat to plan.

Sam pulls out an industrial needle that he’s obviously taken the time to sharpen. It’s the perfect size for a pike. Dean hefts it and gives a nod of approval. Granny Wist pulls out a small piece of leather from her purse. She rubs a small drop of oil onto the leather while saying some words under her breath. The boys give her a look when she goes to hand it to Dean. After receiving a stern look in return, Dean realizes the leather is a tiny chest plate and accepts it. There are thin leather strips to tie around his neck and waist. Once it’s on, his dust sticks to the oiled surface, making him even shinier. Dean shoots Sam a beleaguered look. It doesn’t help that Sam is obviously hiding a smile behind his big hand.

Dean looks down the main hole while Sam and Granny Wist head around the boulder to cover another entrance. He takes a deep breath, grips the makeshift pike, and steps into the dark. The glowing gives him just enough light to be able to see where he’s going. The tunnel is rough around the edges with small bits of roots hanging down here and there. He about trips on something in the darkness and realizes it’s a small skull. The floor of the cave is littered with animal bones and tufts of fur. Dean sees them for what they are: warnings.

Halfway down the tunnel, he starts to hear an eerie scuttling noise. Dean brandishes his needle and tries not to feel like an idiot. His nerves turn out to be helpful because his glow increases enough that he can see glittering eyes in the gloom ahead of him.

Gnomes are ugly creatures. They’re nothing more than little, naked, twisted men with rows and rows of shark teeth. They are a far cry from the cone-hatted bearded old men from children’s stories. Dean grimaces as one scuttles toward him, its black liquid eyes squinting at him in the foreign light.

Dean’s mistake is in thinking that the gnomes are stupid little monsters like gremlins. They aren’t. The moment he brandishes his spear at the closing gnome, another slams into his back. He instinctively flicks his wings and sends the creature flailing away. Dust explodes around him, reflecting his glow, and the gnomes briefly retreat at the unwelcome light. Dean swings his spear and catches the first gnome in the stomach. The others quickly surround him. Dean takes turns swiping out at their feet, hoping to knock some off balance and spinning the spear to keep them at bay.

The tunnel is cramped. It’s the only thing that saves him from being overrun. The gnomes are falling all over themselves to get to him. All the movement and activity is sending up a cloud of fairy dust that clings to everything. The tunnel sparkles like a Disney nightmare. At some point the glittery haze starts to blend with real smoke. Sam and Granny Wist have done their part by setting a fire at the other entrance.

The tunnel noise picks up as the gnomes start to panic. Finally, Dean gets bit on the arm as two gnomes come at him at once.

“Get off me!” he yells.

Suddenly, the tunnel is silent. The gnomes all shuffle back quietly. The one biting his arm lets go and steps away. Dean is dumbfounded until he sees how the gnomes are slouched with a dull look in their eyes.

“Well, at least it’s good for something besides tormenting Sam,” he mutters. “Hey you! Bring me the dryad’s wand, and hurry!”

The biter turns and quickly disappears down a side tunnel. While he waits, Dean makes the remaining gnomes stand on one leg and hit themselves. He’s halfway through making a few of them act out an entire Three Stooges routine when the biter returns. It’s dragging a long silver stick. At first glance, it looks like just a twisted willow branch, but when Dean hefts it, it feels like stone and radiates warmth. It’s much longer than Dean is tall. He has to drop the needle in order to drag the branch. He’s not sure just how much longer the dust can keep controlling his opponents, so he books it out of the tunnel.

Sam is waiting. Several gnomes are trying to make for his boots, but Sam is punting them away with his size fourteens.

“Let’s go!” Dean yells, and Sam picks him and the wand up. They circle around to the other side of the boulder. Granny Wist sits casually on a rock while a circle of flame keeps the gnomes away from her. When she sees the boys, she carefully gets to her feet, purse in hand. The fire ring parts as she passes through it.

“Show off,” Dean says, and she smiles at him.

Sam asks, “Now what?”

“We should go back to the tree. The magic is strongest there.”

“Okay,” Dean says and flies off of Sam’s shoulder.

Sam starts and yells, “Dean!”

“Relax, Sammy. I just want to get some flying in before I change back.”

“What’s it like?” Sam asks softly as they make their way south toward the clearing.

“I’d say it was better than driving the Impala, but nothing’s that good,” Dean pauses, “except maybe sex.”

Granny Wist and Sam share a look, which Dean ignores. He flits around their heads, but in a manly way.

At the clearing, Granny instructs him to stand on top of the stump. She carefully takes the wand from Sam and studies it a moment. The change back is much less dramatic than the sparkly kiss that made Dean small. Granny Wist merely waves the wand in a certain manner, and Dean is suddenly towering over the two of them from his perch on the stump.

Dean quickly does his checklist. Head, check. Body, check. Legs, check. Family jewels, check. Wings? The wings are gone; only a fine layer of dust scattered across the wide shoulders of his leather jacket gives away any clue of his ordeal.

“I’m me!” he yells.

“You were always you,” Sam says. “Unfortunately.”

“Bite me.”

“Boys,” Granny Wist warns.

“So that’s it? It’s over?” Sam asks her.

“Yes, son. What did you expect? Chants and fireworks with naked dancing under the moonlight? I’m a little too old for all that fuss and bother. It’s mostly just for show anyway.”

Sam has the good grace to blush. Dean snorts and elbows him in the ribs. The three of them begin the long trek out of the woods. As they walk, Dean’s quiet, just looking around and appreciating being tall. Which lasts at least until he looks over at Sam and his good two inches. Sam passes the time by talking shop with Granny Wist.

“What are you going to do with the wand?” he asks.

“I’ll use it to reverse the magic the dryad was using. There are trees in this forest that were once people.”

“So that’s what she was doing to the Park Rangers.”

“Yes, when they got too close, she would turn them into trees to show them the error in their ways. Silly thing.”

Dean ignores them as they start into a serious discussion about magic. Although he’s back to his old self, he still feels a bit off. It’s as if gravity is suddenly too much for him. His arms and legs feel heavier. He thinks about what it might be like to have wings at his full size, but quickly shakes his head. If God had meant man to fly, he wouldn’t have invented the Impala.


End file.
